


Coming Up For Air.

by TheGhostOfYou



Series: One Shots; the Gallavich style. [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Car rides, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Happy times for boys who desevere nothing but, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGhostOfYou/pseuds/TheGhostOfYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich is the best boyfriend you can ask for, especially when he let's you steal his fries and then proceeds to ride you in the back seat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Up For Air.

**Author's Note:**

> Title based of The Acid - Basic Instinct.

Mickey absolutely despises wearing a tie. For one, it's just not something that pairs well with his tattooed knuckles. The 'FUCK U-UP' is screaming disorder, as if, a gigantic middle finger, swung high up for everyone to see. But when he puts that piece around his neck, and follows orders with a tight smile, it kills the whole point, really. Not to mention, how restricting it can be. He hates the way the tie is wound up tight around his neck like it's holding something back, holding him back, even if not really. And if there was one Mickey had grown to hate, living in the house he did, was that feeling of being restrained.

His nimble fingers slip into the top of it, loosening it enough to wriggle the tie up his head. The stripped fabric lands discarded on the floor, next to his feet. Out of sight, and out of mind.

The drive home is far from being pleasant, because all these traffic lights seem to be purposely trying to get a rise out of him. His mind fluctuates, from wanting to strangle the life out of his boss, to being able to face-plant Ian's chest and moan and bitch about the day as said man would gently knead Mickey's shoulders until the tension dissipated.

Mickey plans to make his visit home short, just quick enough for a shower and change of clothes, before he can hop back into this car and then maybe break a few dozen traffic laws, because he can't get to Ian's fast enough. 

•••

What Mickey doesn't expect is to find Ian sitting on the front porch steps of the Milkovich household. His hair tousled in that way it always was right after a shower. The tension drops from Mickey's body, like as if a whole dumbell had been lifted off of his chest.

"Hey." Ian smiles, nice and easygoing, and Mickey's heart is doing that odd thing where it feels like it's fliped over.

"Ay, Firecrotch, what'ya doing out here? Jesus, man, aren't you cold?" Mickey mumbles, shrugging out of his jacket, because unlike Ian he was dressed warm enough to part with a layer. He drapes it over the redhead's body, before taking his own spot on the stairs.

Ian pulls at one end of the jacket's collar, sniffing it with a content sigh. "Fiona and Deb's screaming match was driving me nuts. Needed to get out." Ian scoots closer to Mickey, rubbing against his side, with a honeyed voice to his ear. "Plus, I wanted to see you."

Mickey takes one look at the way Ian mimicks what very much resembles a cat, with a snort. "You're so queer, sometimes." But there's no actual heat to his words, and Ian just laughs. "Coulda' just given me a call or some, I would have come get ya'." He slips an arm around Ian's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Walk did me good, actually. Was feeling restless earlier today." Ian finishes with a yawn. Mickey just nods, knowing better than to pry before Ian was ready, pressing tighter against his boyfriend. They sit like that for a while, Mickey's fingers tracing up and down rhythmatically along Ian's forearm. Appreciating the way the taut muscle flexed at his touch.

Mickey finally breaks the silence between them. "You, wanna, uh, go out for a drive or something? Maybe grab a bite to eat, I'm fucking starved." 

Ian flat out grins this time, eyes playing coy. "Mickey Milkovich, you asking to take me out for a spin? Golly, would I ever. Just make sure to have me home before midnight or my parents may boot ya'." 

The attempt at humor was corny as hell, but Mickey chuckles despite himself, the sound warm and throaty. "Yeah, yeah. I'll have you home safe and sound, Princess. Let's go." He rises to his feet before offering a hand down to his redhead.

Fingers intertwine the second Ian accepts the offered appendage, hauling himself up with Mickey's assistance before they're going back towards the car. Ian has this giddy skip to his step, that makes Mickey wants to kiss him stupid. He settles for a kiss to a freckled nose instead, holding the door to the passenger side open.

After a whole minute of fussing over the fact, that Ian should indeed wear his damn seat belt, Mickey slides behind the wheel, a pale hand already shifting the gear before his foot can settle on the pedal.

•••

They talk about Mickey's day at work, and about how Carl needs to come in terms withe the fact that he really needs a haircut. The conversation is light and they laugh to a point where Mickey swears he can't even remember what left him feeling grumpy on the drive home.

A grumble from his stomach reminds them about dinner. Judging from how calm and cozy Ian looks with that jacket as a blanket to him, Mickey decides they'll stick to a drive through tonight, not willing to disturb the comfort Ian has build himself. He takes it out onto the highway, giving himself a few more moments to enjoy Ian like this. Relaxed, and content. Mickey would have sketched it down had he the tools right now. He decides to keep this image in mind for the next chance he gets.

The car pulls up at a Sonic, just off one of the exits and Mickey snorts for a second time that night as his eyes get a quick glimpse of a list of all the joints here, because he remembers that time time Svetlana had rambled on about Burger King, McDonalds and something about choice.

Ian becomes more alert as they get to the first window available, driving past the broken and beaten mechanical ordering machine, prodding Mickey in the shoulder several times. "Babe. Babe. Babe. I want a vanilla shake, okay? None of that soda crap." 

As much as Mickey wants to call him out on the compulsive need to use that nickname, he let's it pass because when Ian's being adorable like this he can't help but just enjoy it. So there's just a lot of nodding, from his part.

An overly chirpy voice draws their attention to the window. "Hi, welcome to Sonic! May I take your order, please?" 

Mickey doesn't miss the way her eyes roam over Ian, a suggestive smile tittering on overly red lips. The girl, Delilah, according to her name tag, is someone who Mickey thinks must have been a contestant on Miss Tenesse. He's not sure that is even a thing, but those ridiculously bouncy blonde curls and than godforsaken accent you don't hear much of in Chicago, bring only such a picture to mind. 

Biting back the snark, he looks at her with his voice tight. "Yeah, we'll take two Combo five's, 'cept my  _boyfriend_ would like you to replace one of the cokes with a vanilla shake." 

Mickey meets her eyes dead on, chin jut forward as an invitation for her response. He catches a glimpse of Ian from the corner of his eye, and the redhead looks impeccably pleased with himself right now. Mickey grins. "What you didn't hear me, huh?" 

It takes a few seconds before she blinks at them, demeanour morphing sour, as she punches their order into their register. Forcing her 'work' tone out. "Yeah. That'll be fifteen seventy-two. I'll be back with your order shortly."

She practically stomps away from the window after handing back the change, and Mickey takes the opportunity to ensure she's still watching before he leans over, pressing a sweet kiss to Ian's lips. "Mine." He then adds, whispering, because someone spitting in their food is not something to be risked. "Bitch better keep her fuckin' eyes off my man."

Ian places his hand on Mickey's cheek briefly, the gesture so tender, a reassurance, a promise. "Yours." 

Minutes tick by after the shorter exchange before the two of them, and then with a bedgrudgingly hand their food is passed over. Mickey doesn't even wait for the 'please come again' before stepping his foot onto the gas.

He wedges his bag between his legs, one hand holding the burger as the other guides the car to the far side of an empty road just further down to where ever this exit is supposed to lead. The key is left in the engine, but he shifts the gear into park.

The food is real good, and Mickey though savoring every bite snickers as Ian chows down like tomorrow won't ever come.

It's not long before slim fingers are poking into Mickey's bag, stealing fry after fry. He thinks about batting away Ian's hand playfully, making a smartass comment about gaining a few pounds. But he says nothing, because when it came to this Gallagher boy, Mickey was unable to deny him just about anything. 

A sheepish voice does come soon though. "Sorry, I'm pigging out, and you were the one who was hungry." And despite saying all this, Ian has pushed his empty bag aside, before taking the box of Mickey's fries into his lap.

"No worries, ey. S'good to see you eat again like this." Mickey slurps the last of his coke with a burp at the end, some old habits just too hard to quit sometimes. He shrugs then, pulling a pack of Marlboro out of the glove compartment. Lighting up the opposite end, to the light tan one that went into his mouth.

Ian speaks up again, around a mouth of halfway chewed food. "You paid, too. I feel like we need to reach a middle ground, take some of my shake."

Mickey scoffs, exhaling a cloud of smoke through his nose. "Fuck that, Ian. I took my fuckin' boyfriend, therefore I'm buying. Plus... Vanilla shake? Nah, that's damn gross." 

"Firstly, fuck you. This is delicious. And second, you need to give me some kind of warning when you call me that." Ian polishes off the last fry, before his hand ends up on Mickey's thigh. "Makes my insides go all funny, I could smile till I die." 

With a roll of blue eyes, Mickey drops his smoke out the window, failing to stop the blush from creeping all the way down his neck. It's just so obvious when on his pale skin. "Just. Just fucking shut up, you big fuckin' goof, and kiss me."

Their lips meet midway, and Mickey groans quietly the second he gets that taste that was so uniquely; Ian. He always tasted fresh, minty thanks to that long wear mouth wash he obsessed over, like cigarettes too. One would have thought that part was disgusting, but Mickey was addicted. There's traces of the vanilla shake, mingling in with that taste of  Ian, and he decides it isn't bad at all like this.

Hands are pulling at him, trying to draw them closer, mouths moving feverishly, kiss deepening until Mickey licks into Ian's mouth. Their tongues partaking in some sensual tango, before Ian moves away, nosing, nipping all along his throat. 

Mickey can't even help the sound he makes, someone where between a whine and a growl, it's not enough, it never is with Ian. He needs so much more. 

Panting now, he threads his fingers into Ian's fiery hair, pulling the strands in a way that he knows makes Ian weak in the knees. "Back seat. Let's get into the back seat. C'mon."

Being on the short side, Mickey manages to climb back easy enough, unlike Ian who is forced to actually step out and then, join him there. The car is warm, in a mild sense, because the heater only functions so well, but right now Mickey's burning up. Ian's touch is everywhere, there's no restriction in their way anymore. He's shoving at Mickey's pants and boxers, lower and lower until all Mickey has to do is shake them off his feet.

His lips latch onto Ian's newly exposed chest, sucking, mouthing at the warm skin, stopping to graze his teeth over the pebbled peaks of Ian's nipples, loving how his entire body shivers at that, ending with Mickey's palms gliding down the toned muscle. The layers of clothes left behind, don't stay that way much longer. It's just bare skin pressed against bare skin after that, both of them already hard, giving off the wafting smell of need, until the car feels heavy and dense with it.

Mickey rotates his hips, grinding his dick down onto Ian's, watching as the redhead's face contorts from the sheer pleasure. The friction, is good, it's amazing, but still not enough.

Mickey needs to feel Ian, needs to feel himself stuffed with that monster Ian calls a cock. Mickey handles him around till he's sitting slightly slouched. Taking advantage of the situation this new position creates, Mickey straddles his lap, thick, pale thighs bracketing the taller boy into place. "Wanna, wanna ride you,  _fuck,_ gonna ride you so fuckin' good." He reaches his hand back, reaching into the pouch at the back of the front seat for a semi empty bottle of lube. 

The bottle clicks open, and Mickey's pouring the cold substance onto two fingers locking eyes with Ian, who looks so far gone at this point that his eyes are hooded in that beautiful way. He works those fingers into himself, bringing them in and out with a whimpering sound.

"Ooh,  _oh fuck."_ It's relieving some of the pressure, but all Mickey can think about is having Ian's long, thick cock in him instead of his fingers. He gets mouthy, always does when they fuck, as another finger slips in. "Oh shit, want this to be you instead. Gonna have you coming so hard, yeah. All inside me." 

Ian's hands grip impatiently at his hips, rocking up gently into Mickey as his voice comes out, broken and husked. "Yeah? You gonna fuckin' ride me, huh? You do it so well,  _baby._ You're so good, for me. You always are. Come on, Mick. Fucking get on me."

A freshly lubed hand is wrapping itself around Ian's cock, running it up and down for each one of those grunts that Mickey loves hearing. It's not the first time they've done it without a condom, they stopped using those after a time they got so desperate. They visited a clinic the next day, celebrating with Ian's seed up Mickey's ass when their results came out negative for anything.  Sex with Ian had, still was, and will always probably be the most phenomenal thing Mickey has ever experienced, but being able to feel him, without the latex barrier between them was something entirely out of this world. Nothing would ever be able to amount to that feeling. 

Mickey positions himself then, Ian sliding down between his cheeks with one swift drop. He throws his head back the second he feels Ian's cock fill him up. Relishing the way it throbbed, and as always, in utter awe of how big it was, how snugly it fit into him. " _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Ian-" Mickey is cut off by the moan checking it's way out of his throat as he bounces his hips. 

Ian gasps, loud when Mickey drops down particularly hard, has his hands fisted, bunched into Mickey's flesh, as his hips sporadically thrust up again, and again. " _God, yeah, baby_. So tight for me. So good for me." It's fucking filthy, the way he breathes those words into Mickey's ear. But all Mickey can do is moan again in return, moving his hips slightly quicker.

By the time Mickey settles into a good rhythm, the car is too, shaking uncontrollably with them. Anyone passing by could probably have guessed what was going on. The fact that someone could possibly hear the babbling mess he's turned Ian into, turns him on even more. 

His movements never lose their grace, no matter how fast or hard Mickey decides he needs to rock his hips. A shift in the angle here and there, and the tip of Ian's cock is jabbing into his prostate, and Mickey can't see straight anymore. It's so good, it's making Mickey see stars every time he closes his eyes to deal with the crippling wave of pleasure that wracks down his spine. " _Ian,"_ He says the name like it's a sin, breathless, and high at the same time. "Touch me, Ian... Touch me-  _fuck. Fuck._  I need it so _bad._ Need to come. Gonna fucking come." 

It's practically sob followed by sob, as his thighs tremble, the muscles under the soft flesh burning with exertion, but he can't stop, he won't stop. Mickey's so close he can taste it, his lower body moving faster yet, because Ian is close too, throbbing hard inside him. 

"No.  _Fuck, Mick._ You're gonna come just like this. Just from my fucking cock. Come on,  _baby- Oh shit, fuck."_ His fingers are digging hard into the plump mounds of Mickey's ass, leaving little half moon shaped intentions in their wake, as his own thrusts, well what he can manage in this potion become more haphazard. "Use me, fucking use my cock to make yourself come.  _Good boy, come for me."_

Mickey barley manages to suppress the pathetic little noises that tumble down from his mouth, kissing Ian, wet, messy and hard to muffle them slightly as he keeps himself adjusted in that position which abuses the life out of his prostate. It's all too much, the feeling, so so full, the words Ian keeps spewing out;  _baby, good boy._ He feels the fire start in the pit of his stomach at first, the ball of pressure growing and growing until the flood gates that have been holding his release, snap right open. 

_"Ian, fuck. Ian, Ian, Ian- Ah, fuck."_ Mickey all but screams as his orgasm takes control of him, shivering and shuddering as each sensation knocks the air right out of his lungs.  He can't see anything but blurs, his pupils so blown, that the shimmery blue ring around them is hard to make out. He comes hard, all over Ian, over himself, painting them with the sticky, creamy mess. His breath a mess after, and hips moving despite the sensivity of his inner walls, so he can coax Ian into it next.

Sure enough, it doesn't take much for Ian to blow his load, the way Mickey constricted around him with each punishing up and down motion throws Ian right of the edge. Hot ropes of his come are filling Mickey, branding him in ways most people could not even begin to imagine, as a single raspy word left his mouth, followed by a howl. " _Mickey."_

Getting their breathing to regulate, proves harder than Mickey would have imagined. But he doesn't care, because he's still riding (no pun intended,) the high. Ian looks so beautiful like this; tired, strung out and goddamn glowing. He's sure he can't be much different, because on the inside Mickey feels so good it feels surreal. The way Ian's release is trickling out and down his thighs, he never wants that feeling to end.

They share a kiss, and this time it's not rushed. It's simple, but it says more than most words ever could. The passion is clear, but the underlying emotion is so much stronger, purer than most things on this world. 

•••

Mickey suggests that they crash it his place that night, no one else is home, so it's all theirs. They end up on Mickey's bed, after he persistently wiped out any trace of what they were upto, off the back seat (saving them both from a Mandy attack), while juggling an incredibly gangly and sleepy ginger on the side that wasn't halfway in the car. 

Legs tangled together, they're facing each other, hands held tight in the little space that manages to be left between them. Mickey watches with a gentle smile as Ian drifts closer to slumber, faster than he is. There's a mumble out of Ian, still, barley audible, but Mickey manages to hear it clear as day. On the verge of sleep or not, they couldn't sleep peacefully if those words were not exchanged.

And when those words, were coming from Ian, they never not manage to send Mickey's heartbeat skyrocketing, or to make his entire body tingle in this delicious way that makes him feel free. He'll never grow tired of hearing the redhead saying it. He presses his forehead to Ian's. "I fucking love you, too." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My main story, the multi chapter one is JUST SO MUCH ANGST. Sometimes, you just gotta write a lil' thing about your OTP being happy, and having a sex-ay time.
> 
> Even though this is not my main project atm, expect more one shots from time to time. I got a lot of ideas. 
> 
> As always, enjoy! And don't hesitate to leave me some comments and kudos. Yes, no, maybe, so? Heh. Take care, precious ones. Mwah!


End file.
